


I really need to leave

by mocking_scoutandjem



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Based on a Tumblr Post, Tumblr Prompt, bellarke bishes, no ragrets, not good at writing it but gotta love to read it, sorry no smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:57:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5038294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mocking_scoutandjem/pseuds/mocking_scoutandjem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on this prompt that i decided to do because i am masterful at avoiding uni work: "you’re scared of haunted houses and halloween attractions and i don’t even know you but your friends left you behind (what dicks) so i’m gonna hold your hand and get you through this, alright?"</p><p>tumblr prompt here: http://allhailweegee.tumblr.com/post/131483518508/some-spooky-scary-halloween-prompts-for-otps-or</p>
            </blockquote>





	I really need to leave

**Author's Note:**

> only my second work of fanfiction so please comment with criticism or feedback! thank you!
> 
> and im open to suggestions so check out my tumblr for fandoms i know...
> 
> tumblr URL: mocking_scoutandjem

“Oh goddamn, goddamn goddamn! I’m gonna kill Murphy.” Bellamy speaks under his breath as yet another giant faux hairy spider falls from the roof and creeps along the skin on his shoulders. He is in the middle of a wild attempt at hitting away re-appearing loosely clothed skeletons when a short blonde appears at his side.  
She places her hand in his and speaks fleetingly.  
“Hey, hey. Its okay! It’s cool, buddy.” Bellamy feels his heart rate begin to slow from the skin on skin contact. Her warm hand is comforting, considering he can’t see anything but the flashing disco lights and torches that run across walls in the frightened grip of reckless kids.  
“Hey. Look at me. Right here. Just look at me.” The girl reaches up and places her free hand on the side of his face. She rests it there for a moment and they share a gaze. She then brings up their linked hands and lean them against  
Bellamy’s insistent heavy breathing. His chest lurches up and down, and his mouth stays open ready for each influx of air. But the girl’s eyes are so blue and her now soft voice entices him.  
“There you go, deep breaths. That’s it.” She smiles, and Bellamy looks down at her light pink lips and small square teeth. “Hi. My name is Clarke.”  
“Clarke,” he repeats. He realizes how deep and husky his voice is compared to a female’s. He’s about to introduce himself but before he can catch another breath to do so, she speaks again.  
“You must be Bellamy?”  
He nods and his curly hair falls a little in front of his face. He remembers Octavia saying something about cutting it.  
“Your friend…” she stops to think for a moment, and then her eyes light up. “Murphy! Yes, Murphy told me about his dick move of abandoning you in the house. He said he didn’t want to pay the fee for a second entry to come back and get you, but said he was worried when you didn’t come out within the first hour…”  
“I’ve been in here for an hour?” Bellamy says, startled.  
“Oh, uh, two actually but never mind. We’ve found shit scared kids that hide under the curtains in the morning or until the police storm it with their floodlights and concerned parents demanding we take more care. I mean, we have disclaimers and signs out the front with warning symbols. Don’t let your tiny children in if they don’t want to go in. really, its basic parenting.”  
“Clarke…” Bellamy interrupts; he can feel something fuzzy crawl past his legs and he wants to yelp.  
“Right. Lets get you out of here. Don’t let go of my hand.”  
“Never.” He says and Clarke double takes. She focuses on him for another moment with a concerned look on her face. Then before he knows it she’s turned back around and his pulling him along behind her.

Together they turn into a small, darkened corridor that Bellamy recognises as one of the ones with a dead end. But instead of freaking out – like he did – Clarke feels with a foot and her empty hand in the heavy black curtains. She mutters under her breath about short cuts. She elicits a small ‘aha’ and then her hand vanishes into the wall and then so does the rest of her. Bellamy follows, all too ready to get away from the two nooses that dropped a second earlier right next to them.  
They enter a neon-lit room and pass two characters covered in fake blood and deep green paint. Clarke waves a quick hello and the taller guy holds out an arm to stop her. Bellamy chalks up her friend’s worried words to dim lighting and thus inability to properly see their situation.

“Clarke? You okay?” He switches looks between Clarke and Bellamy.  
“Yer, Linc, we’re good. Just another delinquent stuck, that’s all. Must be the hundredth this week.” Clarke says, unbothered.  
“Ah, people get caught up in the hype, man. Don’t worry about it.” Lincoln pats Bellamy on the back.  
Bellamy flinches and moves away from the strong grasp.  
“I’m fine!” He snarls. “I can get out by myself.” He rips his hand from Clarke’s and instantly misses her fingers wrapped around his. He begins to storm in the opposite direction when Clarke catches up to him and grabs his wrist. 

“What the hell, Bell?” she shouts, and pulls with such a force that he can do nothing but face her puzzled expression. “Lincoln was trying to make you feel better and you almost break my arm in defense of your masculinity. I don’t think so.”  
With each of her words he’s brought down from his rage-fueled reaction to what he believed to be condescension.  
Bellamy stands back from her, leaning on one foot. He has his hands on his hips, but resignation written across his face. He really wants to get out of the house however he knows, without her, his attempts are futile.  
When he holds out his hand she studies it and then takes it. She leads him back to the creepy blood room that makes Bellamy feel ill and again he stands in front of her friend. 

“Look, mate…” Bellamy halts the British accent with a raised open palm, which he then turns over and extends by means of apology. Lincoln takes it and the two nod with held stares.  
“My shifts’ just about over so I’m going to come out with you guys. See you later Anya.” The olive-skinned woman throws a dismissive movement and the three turn towards a gently flowing section of the room.  
Bellamy notices the cool night breeze on his neck before he can see anything through the artificially generated smoke that pours out of their exit. 

“Oh, thank god.” He leans over and rests his head between his knees. He wants to rub his face on the grass his claustrophobic mind told him he’d never see again.  
“Do you need to sit down?” Clarke asks, one hand on his lower back and her body bent over at the waist to be able to see his face. “I can grab my medic gear if you think you need it?”  
“No, no.” Bellamy rushes, standing upright. “No, I’m fine. Actually, I’m great.”  
“Do you feel like thanking someone else other then the almighty then?” Lincoln says, cracking a small smile.  
“Yes.” He holds Clarke by her shoulders. He realizes he’d seen her earlier over by the Fog of War paintball zone; she had been wrapping a kid’s ankle. He remembers her wavy blonde hair and he reaches to touch it now.  
But a shout from behind him disturbs him.  
“Hey big brother! I thought that was you coming out of the haunted house. What in the Aurora Borealis were you doing in there? You hate…Hello.” Octavia stops walking. She searches Lincoln’s face as though recognizing it but being unable to place why. Lincoln seems similarly transfixed.  
“O?” Bellamy flicks a hand over her face but her attention remains on Lincoln.  
“I think they’re busy,” Clarke laughs.  
“I think so,” Bellamy says with a grin. “Hey, thank you. Really. I appreciate the rescue of another… delinquent?” He questions.  
“Its just a name we give the show patrons. Nothing personal.” She speaks coyly. “And you’re welcome.” She turns around to find the voice calling her name then begins walking toward them. “On both accounts.” She finishes, yelling over her shoulder. Even with her back to him, he can tell she’s smiling. 

When he sees Murphy later, walking with a limp and complaining about the girl who kicked him in the shin, he understands what she meant about why he should be thankful twice.


End file.
